THE NEW YORKER ending up with something that hrought ejaculations of rapture from the fol- lowers He was getting better at it all the time. His talks never made much sense, but they were thrilling. For in- stance, he would say, much as Father l)ivine says today, "The individual is the personification of that which ex- presses personification. Therefore he be- comes to be personally the expression of that which was im,personal, and he is the personal expression of it and the per- sonification of the prepersonification of God Almighty! Peace! It's wonderful! I repeat, it is indeed wonderful!" The followers made a refrain of that, a sort of ecstatic ritual. "It's wonderful," they used to chorus. "Peace! It is indeed wonderful! " B y 1907 Morris had been born again and was calling himself Father J ehovia, having added a syllable to the name "J ehovah." Baker, still rather modest, had announced that he had been born again, too, and that his new name was The Messenger. Mor- ris accepted this without rancor and de- fined the title of his disciple as "God in the Sonship Degree." Morris's own title wa defined as "God in the Fathership Degree." In the meantime, Baker con- tinued to clip hedges and mow lawns and Morris continued to drive his wag- on. Their meetings remained modest affairs. It waS around 1908 that they were joined by an important disciple named St. John Divine Bishop. This St. John Divine Bishop had once been known in the flesh as John A. Hicker- son and was a weather-beaten free- booter of the religious seas. He had been a clergyman in his native Alex- andria, Virginia, had dabbled in Pente- costal Holiness, Holy Rolling, and oth- er esoteric sects, and for a time had been a sort of assistant in one El- der Roberson's Live Eve.-r, Die Never Church in Boston. He drifted into one of the Morris- Baker meetings one night and was deep- ly impressed with Mor- ris's concept of Christi- ,_ anity. He stayed on in Baltimore, finding odd jobs to do, and took a leading part in the meetings at Baker's house. Even today, St. John Di- vine Bishop is a great preacher. You can hear him occasionally in Harlem on . Sunday nights, usually at the Taber- nacle of God, on 110th Street. He begins slowly, in a soft mumble, and as he talks he walks around the lectern in a preoccupied manner. .c\s his voice begins to rise, he breaks into a run, head low and haunches high. Then he mounts perpendicularly into the air, stiff-legged like a bucking horse, and lands shouting. St. John Divine Bishop brought a few more followers to Bak- er's house, but not many. Baltimo- reans, on the whole, were still not ready to accept Morris's declaration that he was the Father Eter- nal. St. John Divine Bishop was a faithful disciple of Morris for four years, but after a while he began in- terpreting the text from Corin thians as applying to himself and the human species at large. He did not attempt to take the Fathership Degree away from Morris. His contention was simply that if the Bible said that the spirit of God "d welleth in you," the "you" applies to anybody who reads the - - 5USAN" . APAR. TMENTS: FUR.NISHED I had a little bedroonz, I had a little bath, .A closet snzall, a nook, a hall, .A s every lady hath. I had a little living-roorn, I had a kitchenette, .A nd a telephone to call rny 07VlZ. But / sublet. Sing ho! for the summer subrenter, Let never his name be mocked. He looketh for rooms \\Then the awning blooms And leaves on the fi rst of Oct. He knows what he wants and he wants it. Duplexes plainly bore him. He eyes a stair with a haughty air And the rents go down before him. He carries a list and his mouth is grim. '--' The best is meagre enough for him. You haven't a roof? He begs your pardon. He likes a terrace, He'll take a garden. Your ventilation is scarcely fit. Your wall space shrinks when he looks at it. He's keen for a shower, tiled and sporty. And you pay a hundred? He'll give you forty. 23 lV 07V in lll}' little ber/roonz Unsteady stands the bed; N ow sticks the door, now 7V hines the floor Beneath an agile tread; N ow loud com,plains the plumbing In bath and kitchenette. F or to our clinze .cam.e sunzmer tirn e .A nd I sublet. Sing hey! for the summer subrenter, Lord of the sticky season. Here's to the lover Of the chintz slipcover, And the payment that he agrees on. Here's to arrears in August, To the lease that never can bind him To the damaged sill and the telephone bill That he sensibly leaves behind him, To the references that were largely fable, To the wide white rings on the coffee table To the vases handy for ash deposit, To the empty bottles Blck in the closet, To the baby grand wIth the battered leg, To the rugs where he practiced mumblety-p g, To the lesson I learned from the earliest comer. But I think I'll try To sublet, this sumnzer. -PHYLLIS MCGINLEY